The Twisted Acrobat
by Elling
Summary: An small insult, a little confusion, the usual arrogance and a witty outburst. Add it all together and you get yourself a few minutes of amusement at the expense of our favorite people.


Keeping good with my short one-shots, so here's a little one that's been sitting on my computer for near five months now, I think. Spring Break has arrived, so I finally decided to try and finish it. Hope I haven't lost it too much in my hiatus. Enjoy!

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The Twisted Acrobat, the most well-known of the eating houses and inns in the district, had its normal and rather busy atmosphere one crisp Tuesday evening. Yes, it was a Tuesday. All sorts of people were crammed inside, from the young to the old, rich to poor, the meticulously clean, to the almost eye-wateringly filthy. Travelers, fisherman, farmers, merchants, sorcerers, mercenaries—they were all enjoying what the eatery had to offer.

The tables nearest the middle of the bar were at full capacity with the Acrobat's usual round of gamblers rowdily winning and losing. The far end of the bar, and the corner table just after it, held a quieter atmosphere that was dotted with an odd sight. Two people bearing the armor and trappings of a sorceress and a mercenary sat at a table normally meant for six. While by the rules of common sense a larger party should've been given the larger table, the peculiar pair (in their outdated-by-50-years apparel) was not wasting space. Every inch of their table was loaded with some steaming food dish or another, from which they ate as if they hadn't had a bite to eat in months. The joints of the table groaned when one of them would lean too much on it in quest for a food item across the table from their person.

The last four stools bellied up to the bar nearest this gluttonous duo were occupied by two more pairs of people: first pair was of prosperous-looking men robed as bankers, ones who'd been drinking a while already. And judging how the volume control on their voices was beginning to slip, a long while. The second was a match up of grizzled mercenaries, fighters who were obviously well-employed and intimidating, conversing in a series of quiet rumbles.

"Next round of drinks says that old redheaded bat gets to the pork chops before grandpa over there does," laughed one of the bankers before finishing off what was left in his tankard. The other banker shared in the chuckle at that, but stopped when the indignant squawk of reluctant wooden chair legs on the smooth-planed floor rang over the general cacophony. At the chair's loud protest of such use of force, one half of the room immediately descended into silence, and pair after pair of eyes turned toward the corner with caution.

The petite old woman in question levered herself gracefully to her feet and struck a pose, temporarily forgetting about the quadruple portion of triple-fried-chicken and gravy-smothered potatoes in front of her. Her arm shot out, one thin finger jabbed accusingly in the direction of—the two mercenaries sitting next to the bankers.

"That was uncalled for, sonny," she snapped at the confused warriors. "Who do you think you're you calling an 'old bat'? Y'got some nerve there, bucko. Mercenaries. Puh. Think they can insult whomever they like." She shifted her weight, white-gloved hands dropped to rest on her bony hips. She tossed her head back with confidence better suited to someone much younger, sending strands of her probably once flaming—now graying—mane of hair flying behind her. The natural arrogance that came with the stance this little old lady took must have been quite impressive in her prime. The two mercenaries blinked at the old woman. One glanced sideways to the banker who'd spoken and narrowed his eyes dangerously at the now-nervous man while the second mercenary tried to placate the woman with a thickly-accented apology, "I'rm sur--"

"Idiot. Don't you know who I am? It may be a little presumptuous to introduce myself this way," her surprisingly strong voice called out with casual arrogance, "But I will not stand for such insults. Of course, I'm the young, devastatingly beautiful, and amazingly powerful sorcery genius: Lina Inverse!"

The man sitting opposite of her had stopped shoveling food into his mouth momentarily and piped up innocently, "Even though you're pushing 70?"

The two framed mercenaries managed to make a sneaky getaway as the small old woman shrieked some unintelligibly arcane words, and with the aide of a small explosion originating from herself, blasted her companion into the opposite wall of the restaurant. The bankers turned themselves to face the barman, heads bowed into their empty tankards to hide their mixture of drunken amusement and terror for a moment before signaling the barkeep for something a little stronger.


End file.
